


Can't Pretend

by Bre



Series: Can't Pretend Series [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Al Sah-him, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Nanda Parbat, Smut, Smut and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bre/pseuds/Bre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet sequels to my Nanda Parbat spec fic <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3670851">To This Moment</a>. (First two drabbles previously posted in the Heartbeats collection.)</p><p>Oliver and Felicity get a goodbye, but it's nothing they expected or wanted. Several years later, when all that's left is Al Sah-him, Felicity helps him find himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Look Back

**Author's Note:**

> Title based on "Can't Pretend" by Tom Odell. I'm considering that this collection's theme song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to "To This Moment."

**"I just needed this."**

The words hung in the air between them.

Felicity pressed shaking hands to his chest, blinking rapidly to dispel the thin layer of tears as she bit her lip to keep a sob at bay. They - they as in she, John and Thea only - were due to leave Nanda Parbat in just a few hours… and she wasn’t ready. She would never be ready for this. For saying goodbye. For something so final, something that would effectively sever everything between them.

They had spent so much time pretending things would be okay if they never happened, but now that it was upon them… she wasn’t ready.

“I just…” she said, her voice wavering. “Needed this.”

For the first time in days, she’d found him wandering the halls of the freakishly large compound of the League of Assassins. She had been prepared to step aside, let him slide by - he’d barely slid her a glance - but at the last minute, she’d snapped.

She couldn’t leave, not without…

He didn’t move and neither did she.

She knew he’d been avoiding her since the morning after their one night together. It had been over a week ago since that night, since she’d finally gotten a taste of what being loved back by the man who owned her heart and soul so completely was like… only to wake up by herself, in a room that no longer held the romantic glow of love and warmth and security.

He had been gone, and she had been alone… until now.

Felicity couldn’t look him in the eye. She knew if she did, she knew her Oliver would be shining back at her, from underneath the harsh new veneer of Al Sah-him, Heir to the Demon, the man who would be taking the mantle of the most dangerous man on the planet. She could handle seeing _that man_ looking back at her, because at least then she could pretend that her entire world wasn’t falling apart around her, but…

But nothing else.

So Felicity stared at the dark robes he now wore, her hands looking small and pale against his broad chest, lost in a sea of darkness… she bit her lip to keep it from trembling as she touched him, moving her hands over him, seeing in her mind’s eye the scars she had traced, the star tattoo, a silent reminder that there was still so much of this man she didn’t know about, so many stories he had yet to share, so much about her she wanted to share with him, her own scars…

But they wouldn’t get that.

Her hands stilled at the thought, and a second later she pulled them back.

He still hadn’t moved, and she still didn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. She pointed over her shoulder, closing her eyes. “I’m gonna… go. Now.”

Did she say goodbye?

The crack in Felicity’s heart she had been carrying around with her since she’d woken to a cold bed that morning, the crack that had slowly grown deeper and deeper when she’d seen the shift in Oliver, seen him go through the ceremony without glancing at her, seen him slowly disappear from the man she loved… shattered when he didn’t move.

“Goodbye, Oliver,” she whispered, and a burning tear escaped, sliding down her cheek, stinging her dry lips. She closed her eyes, more tears falling, and turned away from him.

“Felicity,” he whispered harshly, her name sounding more like a curse than the reverent way he had whispered it for as long as she had known him stopped her dead in her tracks.

Oliver was at her back before she could react. Hard hands gripped her upper arms, tight enough to make her gasp, and then he was spinning them out of the corridor and through one of the doors off the hallway. He had the door open and closed before she could see where they were, and she stumbled in the bleak darkness, running into a high-backed chair.

“Oliver, what-”

Suddenly he was there; he was everywhere.

Felicity gasped as he grabbed her by the waist, yanking her back to his chest, burying his face into her hair. He inhaled quickly, and she felt his entire body trembling against her, so hard she was afraid he was going to hurt himself.

“Oliver,” she whispered, her voice cracking and he let out a harsh breath against her ear, and she felt something wet fall onto her collarbone. Was he crying? Her own tears rushed to the surface, flooding her vision and she blindly spun, reaching for him the same time he did, just as they had that night.

Their lips crashed together violently, their emotions raw like someone had stripped them of all their nerve endings and put them back frayed and painful to the touch. She held him as tightly as she dared, barely wincing when he wrapped his arms around her tightly, yanking her up against him.

Their teeth clashed as they kissed, their lips pulling and taking equally as Oliver spun them until her back collided with a wall.

The room was still dark, too dark to see anything, and she was glad. She knew she wouldn’t be able to do this if she had to look him in the eye, if she had to see her Oliver staring back at her, if she had to see the tears she felt coursing down his cheeks as he hiked her up the wall.

With a growl, he broke away from her, and she heard the whoosh of his robes coming off, followed by his pants, and then his fingers were at her belt, yanking it open and undoing her jeans. She grabbed his shoulders for balance, neither speaking, as he shoved her jeans and panties down her hips and legs. She lifted one leg, kicking her shoe off so he could push the material off, leaving the rest dangling as he surged back up to her, his hands gripping her painfully by the ribs and lifting her up.

He was already ready for her, and she gasped when she felt the head of his cock slide through her wetness. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her head falling back and hitting the rock wall with a pained thud that she barely felt as Oliver positioned himself before sliding in with a precision he had only gained from the hours spent learning every inch of each other as they had.

A sob ripped from Felicity’s lips before she could stop it, and she clamped her lips shut, squeezing her eyes closed as Oliver thrust in to the hilt, giving no indication that he had heard her.

He shoved his face against her neck, pulling out and thrusting back in just as violently, and she whimpered in combined pleasure and heart-rending sadness when she felt Oliver’s tears against her skin.

This was it. This was their goodbye.

Oliver’s thrusts were harsh and uneven, his grunts sounding more like sobs themselves as Felicity wrapped herself around him, taking it, absorbing him and everything he was giving her. It was anger at the situation, pain that they had tasted joy and had had to give it back so quickly. Regret that they had waited so long, rage that it wasn’t enough, that it would never be enough. 

Felicity’s release came on without warning, and it ripped through her like a rusty knife.

She yelped, her head slamming back against the rock wall again as the liquid hot pleasure sluiced through her. She vaguely felt Oliver’s thrusts growing more frantic, his hands gripping her so hard she knew they were going to leave bruises and her nails digging in his neck and scalp like she was afraid if she let go even a little, he would be gone again.

Oliver came with a jagged shout, his hips thrusting so hard that Felicity gave him a pained whimper. He spilled into her, filling her completely.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, breathing each other’s air, their combined mess leaking down between them, smearing both of them, before Oliver pulled out of her.

He lowered her gently, keeping his hands on her when she wobbled, before she gave him a short nod. And then she remembered that it was pitch dark, and he couldn’t see her, so she whispered, “I’m okay.”

It was the biggest lie she’d ever uttered.

He didn’t move right away, his hands clenching at her waist for a second, and she closed her eyes, fighting the urge to launch herself at him… when he finally stepped back.

They dressed in silence.

Oliver opened the door, letting light from the corridor spill in and Felicity left first.

She hesitated, keeping her back to him, unable to speak, to think about what they had just done, to even care that she might have made things so much harder, that everything might now be… worse.

She stifled a sob as Oliver closed the door.

And then she turned, finally looking at him.

His face was wet with tears, his eyes red with unshed pain, the blue of his orbs so bright and striking it pierced right through her heart, and she knew he was seeing the same thing in hers.

With a sob, Felicity threw herself at him, and he caught her, their lips crashing together again, one last time. The kiss was powerful and beautiful and painful and everything they couldn’t say. It was all the years they were going to miss with each other - both as friends and as lovers - and it was the goodbye they couldn’t vocalize.

Oliver pulled back, his grip on her face unyielding as he whispered, “I love you, Felicity, I will _always_ love you.”

“I love you,” she whispered, her words running together. “I love you too, I love you so much.”

With one final squeeze, Oliver turned and walked away from her, not looking back.

After a moment of standing in the corridor, her eyes still closed, her hands still hovering where she had been holding his face, Felicity turned as well, heading towards where the others waited for her, where they were to get on a plane and leave.

Forever.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews literally feed my soul and muse.


	2. Please Stop/Never Stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to "Don't Look Back."

Felicity knew he was there before she saw him.

She felt his eyes on her, a tiny spark that slowly morphed into a flame as awareness danced under her skin

It had been over seven years since Nanda Parbat. Seven years of wondering if things might change, of wondering where he was, who he had become, what he was doing; of learning to put her love for him aside, learning to love someone else, learning to lose someone else; of continuing what he had started, with Diggle, Roy and Laurel, and then Thea, and then Ray…

Seven years of existing, but not _living_.

The first time they heard rumors about the League being back in Starling City, Felicity had gone into overdrive. She’d scoured the news, every camera she could get into, every feed she could find; she sent out feelers, stalking people who made any mention of seeing a giant black shadow carrying a bow. Someone even tweeted, _‘Holy shit, is the #Arrow back?’_ Nobody ever saw anything definitive - the League lived up to its reputation: they were ghosts, slipping in to do one task before slipping away again.

For days she sat in the new Arrow Cave - she still called it the Arrow Cave, even though the Arrow hadn’t shown his face in Starling City in two years - until Diggle had appeared behind her, his touch on her shoulder feeling like acid dripping along her nerves.

_“It’s not him, Felicity.”_

_“Maybe not, but… maybe it is, John. Either way I’m not stopping.”_

_“I’m not asking you to stop. I’m asking you to be prepared for when we find out it isn’t Oliver.”_

When. Not if.

Her searches kept hitting dead end after dead end, but she didn’t give up… until she woke up one morning to a note on her pillow.

It was his scrawl, in black pen on a piece of paper from the cartoon birds notepad she kept in the kitchen.

_‘Please stop.’_

He’d been in her apartment. He’d stood by her bed, walked through the rooms, picked up a pen - which pen, she’d always wondered, like maybe if she held it the way he had she’d be able to feel him - and… he had done nothing. He’d gotten to see her, but she hadn’t gotten to see him - he’d taken that away from her.

Felicity stared at the paper, not moving, afraid to breathe in case it blew the note away as her mind tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

Oliver had been there.

And he wasn’t anymore.

An irrational whip of anger had her crumpling the paper and throwing it across the room. He’d been in Starling City this entire time. He had been the shadow people saw, he had been the inspiration for the Arrow tweet. He knew they would be wondering, they would be concerned, they would want to know he was alright, but he hadn’t contacted them, he hadn’t done anything.

Just a note. Because he knew she was looking for him. He knew she would always look for him.

The tears were unexpected. She didn’t want to cry over him, she didn’t want to cry for that fact that he had stood right there - Felicity laid on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, wondering where it was exactly he had been standing, trying to feel his presence, to feel _him_ …

She cried. She cried for the lost time, for the fact that she was never going to have him back, that if there was any doubt left in her mind about the path he had chosen, he just answered it for her.

The League had chosen him, and he had chosen the League.

Felicity eventually picked up the note, flattening it out. She wanted to trace the letters, but she didn’t. She wanted to show John that he was alright, that he had been there, but she didn’t. Instead Felicity, blinking away tears, opened a drawer and dropped the note in.

She never opened it again.

Since then, there were four times she knew he was in Starling City.

When reports started popping up, it got easier with time for her heart not to jump into her throat at the possibility that it was him, easier to tell herself it didn’t matter because he was gone, and he was staying gone.

So it wasn’t because of her searching for him that she knew he was there, but because he searched for her. She moved a total of three times, and he always found her.

One time he left her window cracked.

Another time she caught a glimpse of a hood down the street.

A red pen went missing from her apartment, of all the stupid things he could pick, like she needed a reminder.

Once she woke up on the couch with her comforter tucked around her.

She never mentioned it, she didn’t need to; it became a link, something to hold on to, something to wish for, something that sustained her as she went on. She went through the motions, only able to commit half her heart to anything - to anybody - because the other half had been permanently given away, ever since Oliver had whispered, _“I love you, Felicity, I will always love you.”_

So when she woke up at 1:37 a.m., seven years after his final words to her, she knew he was there, knew he had _been_ there.

Felicity didn’t move when he opened her window silently, the only indication the change in the shadows on her wall as he slipped through the moonlight before melting back into the darkness that was now his home.

He did nothing for the longest time except watch her, and she felt his eyes on her as if it were his touch dragging over her skin.

She blinked at the wall, her heart calm and tranquil, like she was still sleeping. Her breathing was even, her mind awake and clear. She had let herself wonder what it would be like if she did see him again, if she caught him, if he slipped up… she thought she might use her loud voice, throw something at him because a _red pen_? Seriously?

But she did none of those things. She laid there, waiting.

Time was suspended, moving in the blink of an eye while moving slow as molasses at the same time.

Until he moved.

And then everything felt sharp and painful, and the closer he got to her, the tighter her chest started to feel. She closed her eyes when tears blurred her vision - no, she wanted to open her eyes, she wanted to see him. But she couldn’t.

He didn’t make a sound, but she knew he was standing by the bed. She didn’t have to have her eyes open to know he was reaching out to touch her, and she didn’t have to open her eyes to see where his hand was before she reached out, gripping it tightly.

He let out a startled sound and she looked up at him.

For a man cast in shadows, she saw him remarkably well. He was dressed in his League clothes, his face shrouded save for his eyes.

Al Sah-him stood before her, cold, hard; emotionless.

But the trembling in his hand, his fingers twisting in hers to grip just as tightly… that was Oliver Queen. Her Oliver, the love of her life…

Neither said anything.

Felicity gently tugged on his hand, scooting over, urging him to join her. He didn’t even try to resist. His weapons were already off, his quiver and bow gone as he climbed into the bed, laying down next to her. He didn’t take off his mask, or his clothes, or anything, save for the bare hand in hers.

Their fingers interlaced, holding on to each other like a lifeline. He held on so tightly she felt her bones grinding together; her nails dug into the back of his hand, trembling with the effort. She took a stuttering breath, echoed by his own harsh breathing as they laid next to each other, holding onto the only thing they could…

Felicity closed her eyes, several tears escaping, running into her hairline as she let herself imagine that the only thing in bed with her was Oliver Queen, and nothing more. 

And then he let go.

The sob was out before she could stop it. She held her breath to keep the rest in, her empty hand dropping onto the cold sheets between them. She left it there, pressing her other shaking hand to her face as more tears slipped down her face, soaking into her pillow.

She didn’t dare open her eyes, to see if he was gone, to see if he was still there.

And then his fingers brushed her cheek and she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut tighter. She froze as his wiped away her tears, before he cupped her face. His touch was soft, gentle, a remembrance of the night they had shared. His fingers trailed down her cheek as he moved, down over her jaw, following the dip and curve of her neck as he moved to her shoulder, his fingers leaving a white hot trail in their path. She stayed still, eyes closed, barely breathing, as he moved down her arm with his warm rough palm.

Where she was fighting to keep herself from letting any air into her lungs, for fear that it might fast-forward time, he was breathing fast and heavy, like he was trying to keep himself in check.

He paused when he reached her wrist, before going back up her arm, his hand slipping to her waist where he let it slip down to her hip under the sheet… before it slid back up to her shoulder.

Felicity’s hand shot out to stop his movement. He froze next to her as she pressed it back against her waist, sliding it back down until she reached the hem of her shirt. She pressed his hand up underneath it, sliding it up against her bare skin, over her ribs and up to her breast.

He didn’t do anything for a long second, his breaths coming out in short bursts.

She wondered when her heart had started back to life, if he could feel it hammering against her chest plate, vibrating through her skin.

With a sudden gasp, he clutched her breast tightly, and she arched into his touch, shivering when twisted the sensitive flesh, like he was too eager to touch her, to feel her against him.

She knew the feeling.

Her eyes closed, tears drying on her cheeks, she kept her hand over his on her breast, encouraging more. He gave her that, just that… and she realized after a long moment that that was all he was going to do: whatever she wanted, what she needed.

The fine tremble in his every touch bespoke to the fact that Oliver Queen was in there still, buried so deep inside Al Sah-him, but he didn’t know how to _be_ Oliver Queen anymore.

Felicity opened her eyes, looking at him, and saw his shuttered blue orbs staring at her blankly, watching her, a stark contrast to his heated touch.

Al Sah-him stared at her, while Oliver Queen touched her.

He always came to her, whenever he was in the city, he always came to her, but he didn’t know why anymore.

With a choked sob, Felicity bit her lip, gripping his hand tightly to stop his ministrations. Their eyes stayed locked as she took a slow, shaky breath before she sat up, forcing his hand to fall back.

With slow, measured movements, Felicity gently pressed on his shoulder until he rolled onto his back. She got up on her knees, letting her hands rove across the heavy material of his League wear. She didn’t try to remove any of it, she didn’t try to take his mask off or force him to remove any more armor than he already had.

This wasn’t about changing Al Sah-him, it was about reminding him that he was still Oliver Queen, that he was still a man, a man she loved, and that she would love him no matter what.

He didn’t stop her as Felicity found the belt and button of his pants. He laid prone beneath her as she undid them, spreading the material and pushing it down his hips. She reached in, grasping his already hard cock, looking up to see his eyes flutter shut, his hips arching into her touch as she gently pulled him free.

His entire body trembled beneath her as she gently stroked him, her thumb running over the head where precum was already seeping free. He hissed, his hands gripping her sheets into tight fists.

Felicity sat up, pulling her shirt off. Her hair was longer than the last time he’d been in Starling City, and it cascaded down her chest and back, tickling her bare skin as she wiggled out of her pajama shorts and panties, leaving her naked before him.

He may be still be completely veiled in darkness, but she knew he was more naked than he’d been in a very long time.

Felicity straddled him, their eyes locked on each other. She reached between them, gripping him tightly, pressing him against her wet entrance. He barely moved, short hard breaths coming out as he forced himself to lay still…

Felicity slowly eased down on him, her mouth falling open in a silent moan as he filled her more completely than anything in her life.

A breathy whine escaped him, and Felicity panted as he watched her. The shuttered look was gone, replaced with raw emotion: pain, love, grief, anger… he stared up at her, showing her everything, giving her everything as she reminded him of who he was, that he could always come back to her to find his home. She didn’t see the mask he wore, the black archer clothes, the hood still up… she only saw his eyes.

She only saw Oliver.

Felicity reached down, grabbing his hands. She pressed them to her thighs as her hips started a slow, easy rhythm, small thrusts that started rocking the bed as she held his hands to her body. His fingers were trembling again. She held them to her waist, their eyes never breaking contact as she made love to him.

Felicity’s breathing grew heavier, the slow burning spiral of pleasure starting to blossom in the pit of her stomach; her hips moved faster, and she nodded to him, encouraging him to hold her, to keep her close.

Felicity saw the break in him before his fingers suddenly dug into her waist.

With a grating moan, Felicity fell onto him, pressing her forehead against his, gripping the pillow he laid on. Her hair created a dark curtain around them, but she knew his eyes were open, watching her in the darkness, just as hers watched him as they thrust against each other, their hips moving faster, chasing their release.

With a choked growl, Oliver reached up and yanked his mask off. Felicity gasped, her hips stuttering, but Oliver wrapped a tight arm around her waist, keeping her pressed against him as he cupped the back of her neck, their lips crashing together.

It happened in a blur after that, as Oliver planted his booted feet, using his grip on her waist to thrust wildly into her as their tongues mimicked what their lower halves were doing.

Her pleasure grew in a tight ball in her center as they thrust against each other, as Felicity matched his kiss with equal ardor, teeth nipping at each other’s lips and tongue, her hands coming up to cradle his face in a tight grip, her release climbing without warning. Her nails dug into his temples, their moans lost in each other. His hold on her grew tighter, their hips moving faster, the bed rocking underneath them…

Felicity came with a broken shout. Oliver gasped underneath her, thrusting up without any rhythm as her walls pulsed around him. His hold on her waist was painful, making her ribs groan with discomfort as he held on tighter and tighter… until with one last thrust Oliver spilled into her, the sound he made something between pleasure and grief, a sound that tore into Felicity’s soul.

*

Felicity woke the next morning, her body sore and bruised. She didn’t open her eyes for a long moment, letting herself just… be. She didn’t want to feel the pain of knowing he was gone, the loss all over again, knowing that the love they had given each other last night was over again…

She eventually did open her eyes though, and there was a note on her pillow.

It was the crumpled note, the first note he’d left her… it was flipped and on the other side, in the same scrawl with the same black pen, was a message:

_‘Never stop.’_

Felicity blinked at the words, and she slowly traced the letters as tears rose unbidden.

But not tears of grief this time.

They were something else.

Because she knew what he meant.

_‘Please never stop loving me.’_

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews literally feed my soul and muse.


	3. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to "Please Stop/Never Stop."

John Diggle knew she was pregnant before she did.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence for her period to disappear for a few months, sometimes an entire year, depending on her stress levels, so when her period didn’t come one month after her night with Oliver - with Al Sah-him - she didn’t think twice about it. 

Or the month after, or the month after that.

The morning sickness was explained away as food poisoning, and her aversion to some foods was a step past that.

Felicity didn’t think about the fact that she hadn’t been on birth control for over three years, or the fact that she hadn’t been with anyone in longer than that. Why take birth control, with all its risks of clots and other issues, when there was no reason to be safeguarding her eggs?

It was logical, and so was forcing herself to forget the night Al Sah-him had slipped into her bedroom, the night she’d managed to see through all those layers of the assassin he had become to find Oliver Queen still hiding inside. To find the man who guided Al Sah-him’s actions, coming to her without knowing why.

His note, _‘Never stop,’_ was in her bedside nightstand.

She’d kept it out for a while, kept staring at it for a long time after that night, after she’d made love to a man who was so deeply divided within himself that it was a miracle he didn’t have a mental break. It was a sign, a sign that her Oliver was still in there, still fighting to come out, still fighting for her, for them. She’d kept it out, wanting to see it, to remind herself that waiting for him wasn’t the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

But he didn’t come back.

Eventually, she put the note away, crying herself to sleep before waking up the next morning, and putting it all out of her mind.

And it worked, until John pulled her aside one day and asked her point-blank, “Are you pregnant, Felicity?”

_“What?”_ She’d swatted his arm. _“Am I going to have to call up Lyla to tell her you need to start taking some meds or something?”_

Diggle had grabbed her elbow when she’d tried to walk away, saying, _“Just answer me this then. I know you haven’t been in any relationship - hell, you haven’t even dated anyone since that Michael guy, but… I don’t want to overstep my bounds here, Felicity, but have you been with anyone recently?”_ She’d frozen and he’d seen it immediately. _“If I were to guess here, I’d say it happened about three months ago.”_

His words slapped her in the face like she’d run straight into a brick wall. They stunned her, leaving her gasping for air as her mind raced back to that night, the night she’d forced herself to not think about, to the night when… 

When he hadn’t been wearing a condom. And she hadn’t been on birth control.

John’s face had morphed into alarm when she started hyperventilating, and then her lunch had surged up her gullet and she’d barely made it to a trashcan in time.

She had been with someone. Someone she hadn’t told anyone about; she’d never told anyone about Oliver’s visits to her. Those moments were hers - they were theirs - and she didn’t want to hear what everyone would say about it.

Except now she was pregnant.

That had been two months ago.

Two months of telling John she was not going to tell him who she’d slept with - _“Trust me, John, when I say he doesn’t want anything to do with the baby.”_ And that was true. Al Sah-him wouldn’t. _“Anyway, I wouldn’t even know how to contact him”_ \- and the look on John’s face: disappointment, understanding, sadness, anger.

He wanted so much better for her, she knew that, and maybe once upon a time she had too.

But then she’d fallen in love with Oliver Queen, and she’d realized she was the kind of person that didn’t let go. That Oliver was the kind of person who didn’t know how to let go, and this was the result of that. 

Lyla was her best support system.

She and Thea had become close, but over the years they drifted, especially when she and Roy reconnected and Thea moved to Brazil with him. The Diggles stood by her, Lyla going with her to appointments, being the understanding and loving friend she didn’t realize she needed until she broke down crying in front of her, and Lyla had just held her.

How many times had Felicity daydreamed about having Oliver’s baby? She’d recklessly wished a hundred different times that she had gotten pregnant all those years ago, back in Nanda Parbat, when saving Oliver was a much more viable option, when he wasn’t in so deep, but it hadn’t happened.

No, it happened when he snuck around, watching her, always staying in the dark, until she’d caught him at the right moment, pulled him out of it, to find that Oliver was still inside Al Sah-him, but buried so deeply that all she was allowed was a tiny glimpse.

But her grief quickly morphed into joy.

She’d made love to Oliver that night, he had been there with her as much as he could be through his Al Sah-him veneer, and now she would have a piece of him with her forever.

Their child, their beautiful child who was currently pressing a foot up into her ribcage, waking her from a restless sleep.

Felicity groaned, shifting on the bed, rubbing the side of her engorged stomach. “Cool it, kid, mommy needs sleep.”

But the baby was having none of it. She - Felicity was one hundred percent certain she was having a girl - was particularly active tonight. Felicity groaned again, shifting, thinking back to what she had eaten all day. Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, she’d been around John most of the day and he’d forced her to eat _healthy_ food, despite her death glare when he’d switched out her chocolate milkshake for vitamin water.

_“Trust me, Felicity, with three kids under my belt, I’m officially immune to that Pregnant Woman Glare.”_

With a sigh, Felicity opened her eyes, moving to stretch when she saw the dark shadow kneeling next to the bed.

Felicity shrieked in alarm, jerking back on the bed, pushing herself up against the headboard before wrapping her arms around her belly. Panicked white noise filled her ears, shocked adrenaline surging through her body as she stared at the shadow.

When the shadow didn’t move, the distress in her system slowly faded as the sleep-addled fog in her mind dissipated.

Reality set in, and she realized she knew him.

The shadow didn’t move, and neither did she.

Her heart still raced, her mouth dry with residual frenzy as she stared at him. He was kneeling next to the bed, his head bowed, his body rigid, his hood and mask on; he _was_ the shadows.

Felicity let out a tremulous breath, her body relaxing as he still didn’t move.

Felicity swallowed, pushing her hair out of her face. Her arms shook with the realization that he was here, that he now knew she was pregnant.

“Oliver?” she whispered, and he jerked like she’d slapped him. The wild urge to get off the bed and away from the obvious threat in her room ran rampant through her, but she forced herself to ignore it.

Instead she inched towards him, slowly reaching out to touch him. She said his name again, barely a whisper this time, but he reacted just as viscerally and she froze. 

Her throat burned with unshed tears as she whispered, “Al Sah-him?”

He let out a harsh gasp at the sound of his name, and his shoulders fell, his head bowing further.

He didn’t try to reach out, he didn’t say anything, or even look at her, and a hot tear slid down Felicity’s cheek as she pulled her hand back, wrapping her arms around her stomach again. He looked up at her movements, and she felt his eyes on her skin like his gaze was covered in razors, scraping over her.

He suddenly moved in a sharp jerk, reaching out to touch her stomach, but Felicity’s harshly whispered, “No,” stopped him.

His hand hovered between them.

“I want Oliver,” she said, her voice breaking, tears streaming down her face. She blinked, and they sluiced down her cheeks, sliding down her neck and into the curve of her collarbone, some dripping onto her tank top, leaving wet blotches.

He looked up at her and fear choked her, squeezing her throat shut.

Al Sah-him looked at her, and her insides turned to liquid.

It wasn’t just her this time; it was her and her baby. _His_ baby. But it wasn’t Oliver looking at her.

Felicity shivered, scooting away from him and he just watched her move.

“I want Oliver,” she said again, her voice cracking again, her eyes never leaving his.

He just watched her for a long moment, emotionless and blank. She didn’t know how much time passed, but her arms started to hurt from the strain of keeping her muscle taut, her back started to ache from sitting how she was, but she didn’t move, and neither did he…

Not until he finally reached up, and pulled his mask off.

Felicity’s tears hitched in a sob when she saw how badly his fingers were shaking; the trembling spread to his arms and shoulders, his entire body as he removed his mask, revealing himself to her.

He dropped the mask on the floor, and then he pulled his hood back.

She gasped when the moonlight highlighted him. He’d been covered when she saw him last, the darkness covering anything he might have revealed last time, but now… now the light shining through the windows showed her everything.

His hair was closely shorn, revealing a long angry scar along one side of his scalp, and another down the side of his face. He looked like he’d aged twenty years instead of the nearly eight since the last time she’d fully seen his face.

Felicity watched Al Sah-him melt away, watched his face soften, his eyes fill with unshed tears as he stared at her, imploring, begging her to _see him_ , and she did.

“Felicity,” he said, his voice raspy with disuse, and she let out a sob at the sound.

She saw _him_.

She saw _Oliver_.

“Oliver,” Felicity whimpered, launching herself across the bed the same time he pushed himself up onto it, catching her in his arms.

Another sob ripped from her chest, sounding like glass grating through the room as she shoved her face into his neck, inhaling. He smelled different, he was so different, but the way he held her, the way he squeezed her close, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let her go, told her it was Oliver. It was her Oliver holding her.

Felicity’s tears soaked into his League jacket, and she held him closer when she felt his slipping onto her bare shoulder.

The tiniest sob escaped his throat, a mixture between a whimper and sigh, and she cried harder at the sound, holding him as hard as she could, the evidence of their love squished between them.

As if realizing it at the same time she did, Oliver pulled back and she looked up at him as he stared down at her stomach. His face was smeared with tears, his eyes red-rimmed and shiny, but there was something else there she’d never seen before.

This was no longer Al Sah-him.

He was Oliver, through and through, and her shivers became uncontrollable at the realization.

He frowned, his hands digging into her arms as he whispered, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head, and an incredulous laugh slipped out. “No, no, I’m okay. I’m okay.”

For the first time in nearly eight years, those words weren’t a lie.

Oliver looked at her - her Oliver looked at her - and something inside her snapped.

A violent whip of need shattered inside her chest, flooding her body, and Felicity was moving before she could think twice. She grabbed his face and pulled him down to hers, her lips crashing against him. He froze, gasping, his air mingling with hers for a quick hot second… and then he gave in, wrenching her into his arms, holding her like he never wanted to let go.

The kiss was ferocious with unbridled passion. Unlike last time, neither of them held back, and their lips clashed together painfully, nipping, biting, clawing, taking…

A flood of wetness pooled between her thighs and she clenched them tight, yanking on Oliver’s shoulders to bring him closer, needing him closer to her. His hands were hard on her back, on her hips, her shoulders, everywhere he could touch as he reciprocated before he suddenly stopped.

Felicity gasped when he pulled back, the momentary break leaving her feeling like she was fraying at the seams, her face on fire from his beard scraping her, her lips raw from his kisses, her body positively screaming for his.

And then she realized why he stopped as his eyes dropped to her stomach.

He lifted his hands like he wanted to touch it, but then he stopped himself.

“No,” Felicity said, grabbing his hands before he could take them back, and she placed them on her stomach.

“She’s yours too, Oliver.” Oliver’s body jerked with concealed sobs as he took a shaky breath. He stared at their hands before looking up at her, a tear sliding down his cheek. She reached over and wiped it away with her thumb, rubbing his cheek. “She’s ours.”

“She?” he croaked and she nodded with a teary laugh.

“I’m fairly certain it’s a she. But watch,” she said, taking her hand back to wipe her face. “Watch, it’s a boy. I think our child would do that just to spite me.”

He laughed and she blinked. The sound was rusty and uneasy, like he didn’t laugh, like he hadn’t laughed in a very long time.

No, Al Sah-him didn’t laugh.

But Oliver did.

Felicity reached for him, cupping his face, bringing his forehead to hers.

“Stay with me, Oliver,” she whispered, and something that sounded like a whine came from him. “Stay with me, love me, please.” Her lips trembled, grazing his as she said, “Make love to me.”

“I don’t…” He paused, swallowing and they stared at each other, his hands still on her stomach. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. I trust you.”

A heavy silence filled the air around them as they stared into each other’s eyes, and then Oliver inhaled, his hands cupping her face and he pressed his lips to hers again, searing her with the emotion shining from his eyes.

Their moans filled the room as his tongue slid across her lips, and she granted him access again, letting him take anything he wanted.

Last time it had been about Felicity reminding Oliver of who he was.

This time, it was Oliver reminding himself who he was.

There was no room for the League, for Al Sah-him here, and Oliver pulled back enough to unfasten his League wear. Felicity watched him undress, watched him strip himself of the identity he had carried around since Nanda Parbat, stripped himself to the bone for her, for them. His clothes landed with heavy thuds on the floor, and she watched with shaky breaths as he revealed more of himself to her.

So many more scars, so many more marks.

This man was different than the Oliver she had known, than the Oliver she had found a few months ago.

She was ready to re-learn him, ready to re-learn with him, _together_.

Fully naked, Oliver leaned over, his fingers finding the hem of her tank top. He pulled it up and Felicity lifted her arms, letting him undress her. His eyes were dark with need, with wonder and something she couldn’t fathom as he took in her breasts, swollen to twice their normal size from the pregnancy, and the gentle slope of her belly. She let him push her back, let him pull her pajama shorts off, leaving her just as naked as he was.

Oliver was reverent as he touched her.

His eyes roamed her body, taking in her new shape, the new shape of their baby, before his eyes found hers. He wanted to take his time, he wanted to explore her just as bad as she needed to explore him, but Felicity needed him to fill her more though, to reconnect with him more than anything in that moment.

Al Sah-him had come to her, but the man guiding him - Oliver Queen - was standing before her now.

“Come here,” she whispered, holding her arms open to him and he obliged instantly, falling down next to her, his lips finding hers. The kiss was soft, loving, gently passionate. He made love to her with his mouth, his hands roaming her body.

Felicity cried out when his fingers traced over a sensitive nipple, when his hand curved around her protruding belly, cradling the product of their love between them.

“Oliver,” she whispered, looking up at him, and she was struck with the stark contrast from last time. Last time she had made love to him, she had driven the moment, but this time it was him. It was Oliver, needing to do this just as she had needed to. “Love me.”

“Felicity,” he said before his lips crashed against hers. He was so gentle as he lifted himself up, their lips never breaking, his body rubbing along hers. She felt his hardness against her outer thigh, and need and desire swooped through her, making her core burn with anticipation. His hands touched every inch of her, her skin so overly sensitive she felt the ghost of his touch in every spot he grazed.

He grabbed a pillow, and tears burned her eyes at the oddly thoughtful move. He helped her lift her hips, sliding it underneath her. Felicity’s legs fell open and his eyes latched onto her puffy, wet sex. But just as quickly, his eyes found hers again, and she felt his love for her like a warm blanket wrapping them both in a cocoon made for just them.

Oliver’s hands slid down her inner thighs, his eyes never leaving hers. He ran a thumb up along her soaking entrance, spreading her juices. His eyes were hooded, growing darker with his own need, as he caressed her clit, pressing her legs further open, his eyes watching her reaction.

“Oliver,” Felicity whimpered.

He gripped her thighs, poising himself at her entrance. She nodded frantically, her hands reaching for his blindly as he towered over her, waiting. His hands found hers, their fingers interlacing with shocking strength as he thrust into her.

Felicity cried out, his full length filling her. The angle of the pillow underneath her let him go deeper, so deep, and he groaned, his hips immediately pulling out and thrusting back into her. He gripped her hands so tightly, just as he had the last night he’d been with her, and she held on just as hard as he slowly made love to her.

He curled over her, pushing their hands down beside her head where he pinned them, his hips gradually building up to a faster pace, his face diving into her neck, his lips and tongue sucking and nipping at her tender skin, marking her.

Pleasure like she’d never known grew steadily within her, growing headier and headier with each of his thrusts. She felt like he was going deeper and deeper each time, filling her more and more, laying his claim on both her and himself.

Felicity squeezed his hands in hers, thrusting against him as much as she could, her cries for him growing desperate, louder and louder…

Oliver’s grunts and moans echoed in her ears, and his thrusts started losing all rhythm as his crisis fast approached. Oliver tugged his hand free, slipping it between them and around her belly, finding her clit.

“Aaahhhhh,” Felicity cried out, his fingers rubbing her in tight, sharp circles, his hips hitting her harder. “Yes, yes, yesss… Oliver!”

“Felicity,” he moaned in response. He whispered her name over and over into her ear, his breathing hard and erratic, and then he whispered, “I love you. I love you, I love you…”

It pushed her over the edge.

Felicity came with his name on her lips, her walls clamping down around him.

Oliver’s fingers stayed between them, pressed to her clit as he chased his own release. He still had one of her hands clamped within his next to her head and he squeezed it so hard she nearly blacked out as it combined with the rampant pleasure building once again inside her.

Oliver scraped his fingernail against her clit and she came again with a loud yell as he joined her, spilling his seed into her.

*

When Felicity woke, she knew she was alone. Every inch of her ached with satiation and completion.

Oliver hadn’t left after their first time last night. He’d stayed, and he’d made love to her three more times before he held her as she fell asleep.

But now… she was alone.

Before she could stop it, a harsh sob left her, the sound wracking her chest, as she realized he was gone.

Again.

Opening her eyes, tears blurred her vision, almost enough that she missed what was lying next to her, and when she saw it, she froze.

His black mask laid on the pillow he’d laid on last night.

He’d left his mask. 

He’d left Al Sah-him behind.

It was a note in and of itself, his way of saying he was coming back to her. He’d found himself again, he was Oliver Queen, and he was coming home.

With a broken sob of joy and love, Felicity touched the mask with shaky fingers.

He was coming home.

Oliver was coming home to her.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if I’ll be continuing this, but I’m going to leave this collection open just in case the muse attacks.
> 
> Reviews literally feed my soul and muse.


End file.
